


Mania

by arishadi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arishadi/pseuds/arishadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock, the stars are beauitful tonight.” John sighs in this way that makes me think he is longing to go up there and be an endlessly magnificent star himself.</p><p>But why go up there, I think, when you can be my star down here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mania

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I originally wrote last year. It's a bit weird and confusing but it's one of my favorites.

“Sherlock, the stars are beauitful tonight.” John sighs in this way that makes me think he is longing to go up there and be an endlessly magnificent star himself.

  
 _But why go up there,_ I think, _when you can be my star down here?_

“Will you play for me?” He asks.

“Of course.” I reply.

When I am alone, I am not a brash person. I am reserved thoughts and sheltered body languague and soft sighs and whispered Sunday mornings. I can not remember the last time I raised my voice. I can sometimes go for days without uttering a single word and it’s like letting the symphony of things in my head play out this brilliant, echoing, painful, cacophony of sound and I like it.

Because being quiet is like letting the weight of the worlds sorrow settle on my shoulders and it makes me feel grounded. Being quiet is like wind rushing on your face at the beach, rushing, pulling you back down to earth, dragging you back to waking up.

Quiet is how I am without John.

John is brash. John is loud and distorted and beautiful. Because nothing is more beautiful than something which is totally foreign. And he is totally foreign.

Every word he speaks flys from his mouth like a slap to the face and when he turns his big baby blues on you, it’s as if a storm has chaoticly rearranged your mind and left you feeling like you’re a little bit lost, a little bit out of sorts. John is floating through the air, weightless, on a night that’s warm and tropical and the stars aren’t so far away anymore. John is the opposite of being quiet, John is losing your reality. John is losing me.

I am disjointed from reality, I am walls crumbling and dreams that feel so real, so great, you can almost believe they’re not some miraculous figment of your imagination.

“I love this piece.” John says, and his voice is soft, but it seems so loud in the quiet flat. It’s seems so loud and so very John. It resonates unnaturally and stickily inside my body.

He smiles brightly at me and seems fascinated as my fingers flair over the keys on the paino like they would dissolve away should I decist. I let them fly across the keys and I let my mind fly with John and John’s fascination.

Love is the weight of a paino, I decide as I watch him like a hawk watches its pray. When he’s like this, a little less manic, and little less himself, I love him best. Because I can still think and not be overwhelmed by everything he is. My mind doesn’t short circuit, cut out.

No, I ammend, love with John is the weight of a piano.

Normal love is not this way. Normal love is not this obsessive, this unhealthy.

Normal love does not make you sick when you can’t see their face and normal love does not make your heart ache when their face is not smiling. Normal love is not this much.

Could it ever be anything but, when this love is with John? Could it ever be normal love? I wonder.

He’s closed his eyes now and is savouring the notes floating through our flat. The moon filters into the room and bathes him with this otherworldly glow and he’s got a small smile on his face and is so heart breakingly perfect in that moment that I think I might just cry. Like when you see a majestic sunset, or a majestic mountain, but this is a majestic John, and my God, he is beautiful.

You know, I don’t think it could be normal love. Not with him.

I am the air, just there, just nothing. Just barely existing. And he is a bird, free and unnaffected and soaring right through me. Leaving nothing he touches free of his searing touch.

“Play it again.” He whispers now, his expression dreamy and not really there. He looks lost in his head and his voice sounds sleep addled.

And because it’s him and because I love him best like this, I do. I play it three times over. Then he falls asleep and all of sudden, I have no reason to play anymore.

Instead I go to where my warm, sleepy John is sleeping and I want to sleep too.

But there is that fear – that fear of the unknown – that fear of never waking up from my John-fogged, John-addled cloud of disillsuion and it’s scary. And that fear stops me from sleeping and forces me to get away and and do something that I would do if it weren’t for the blonde, sleepy, warm thing on our couch. God I love him like this.

And so I wander into the kitchen and make hot chocolate and I become quiet.

Because the thing with John is that when he leaves, when hes not here, here in my mind, reality, quiet, always brings me crashing back down to earth. And that is why I like quiet.

Because if it weren’t for the quiet I would be entirely too high up, with my endlessly magnificent star.


End file.
